Not So Easy
by theserialcomma
Summary: Post Reichenbach. Molly Hooper helped Sherlock fake his own death, but what if he wasn't the only one who had help faking their death? MAJOR SPOILERS Sherlock/Molly pairing - Sherlolly Rated T for swearing & maybe other things...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N I'm not really very good at writing these things, so bear with me! The beginning of this story may seem very cliche to other Sherlolly FanFics, but I promise, it'll get better! Please excuse any mistakes to do with plot-line, I'm actually very new to the Sherlock fandom but already very much a part of it. I am also looking for a Beta, so please, message me if you're willing! I apologise for how all over the place this chapter is... Also, I must warn you, this is my first FanFic in a while. I have started others in the past but never succeeded in keeping them updated, however, I'm going to try very hard with this one! Anyways, enough with my rambling please RRR! **

The plan was executed perfectly: the strategically placed bin; the cyclist knocking John over; the blood she'd been able to steal from St. Bart's; the the injection that imitated death.  
When he arrived at the hospital and placed on the gurney in front of her she only needed to wait fifteen minutes before the effects of the drug wore off.  
"Did it work?" Were the first words Sherlock said, his words slurring slightly.  
"Yes, but it isn't over yet. We have to get you out of here without you being seen. We didn't really think about that when we were planning all of this. I think the safest way is to wait until everyone has left and then sneak you out. It's pretty usual for me to stay later than I have to, anyways. I doubt anyone will suspect a thing."  
Sherlock nodded, his face staying blank, but secretly he was impressed. This was Molly Hooper, the girl who could barely say a full sentence around him without stumbling, thinking quite logically.  
"Someone's going to come through the door in approximately thirty seconds. Act as though you've been crying," Sherlock said suddenly, closing his eyes.

Sure enough, a few seconds later Lestrade came in, wrinkles between his eyes.  
"Is it true? Did he actually- is he actually dead?"  
"Greg- I- I'm so sorry," Molly said and flung herself onto him, hugging him tightly so he wouldn't notice the lack of tears in her eyes.  
Lestrade was stunned but slowly put his arms around Molly.  
"It's okay. It's not your fault. You didn't know he was going to- going to jump off that building."  
_Oh, God. But I did_, Molly thought.  
Before pulling away from the hug she desperately started rifling through her mind, trying to think of something that would make her cry… She started thinking of her dad, when he had first told her family that he had terminal cancer.  
She could feel the tears stinging in her eyes but not enough to spill… Then all those horrible things Sherlock had told her over the years and how she used to go home and cry over them. Yes, that did the trick. Tears were sufficiently spilling down her cheeks now.  
Molly pulled away from Lestrade and looked up at him.  
"Look, I should probably leave you to, um, do your job, but if you ever need anything you know where to find me. I know how much you cared about him."  
"Wait! Before you go… I don't think I'm going to have enough time to check on John, so, could you please, just… I don't know- try to talk to him? He was Sherlock's best friend, after all. I don't- I don't think he'll be handling it very well."

Lestrade nodded. "Of course, Molly."  
He turned around and walked out as Sherlock sat up.  
"Finally. I thought he'd never leave,"

"What do you mean? He was barely here five minutes."  
"Yes, but when you have a mind like mine five minutes goes rather slowly when there's nothing interesting to focus on."  
Molly sighed and grabbed some wipes to clean off the fake blood off of Sherlock. As she reached up to his forehead he grabbed her wrist.  
"What are you doing?"  
"I- I, um- I just thought that I should, um, clean up some of the blood and… there isn't a mirror here to wipe it off yourself- and- and, the only place where there is one is the bathroom, and you can't go in there in case you're, you know, seen."  
Sherlock internally rolled his eyes. So, stuttering Molly was back. He let go of her wrist and let her clean off the blood.

She dabbed at where the blood had dried on his forehead softly, almost warily. This intrigued Sherlock. It wasn't like he'd actually hurt himself; there wasn't any need to be overly gentle.

"There. It's cleaned up now," She said as she placed the blood-stained wipes in the bin.

"Molly; thank you," Sherlock said, his piercing blue eyes looking right at her.  
Molly blushed slightly, looking down, away from his gaze.  
"Well, I'm sure you'd draw attention to yourself if you were to walk around with blood on your face so-"  
"No, not the blood, but all of this. Faking my death- illegally might I add… You could get fired for this."  
"I- um… It's okay. It's no different to any other time I've broken the rules to help you," She stammered, looking up to meet his eyes for a fleeting moment before looking back down at the floor. Damn her insecurity.  
"By the way, well done on the acting. The actual tears were a nice touch,"  
"Yeah, well, um, anyways, you're going to be stuck in here for a couple of hours," Molly said quickly, changing the topic. "Do you want anything to eat? You can't have eaten since early yesterday."  
"No, but a coffee would be nice. Black-"  
"With two sugars," Molly finished for him with a nod before rushing out.

* * *

By the time Molly and Sherlock got back to her apartment it was well after one in the morning and Molly felt like a walking corpse. She figured she hadn't slept in over 40 hours as she'd stayed up all night the night before preparing for Sherlock's 'death'. The only thing that had kept her going was adrenaline and coffee.

"Um, Sherlock, I'm just going to have a shower, so, um, yeah. Make yourself comfortable."  
It didn't seem like Sherlock was listening. He was walking around her apartment, examining all the things she had lying around; what book she was currently reading, what movie she had last watched. Molly sighed.

* * *

When Molly had finished her piping hot shower and put on her least shabby pyjamas she stepped into her bedroom, ready to snuggle into her warm sheets and finally get some sleep, only to find a tall figure already lying in her bed, asleep. Molly hadn't thought about this. She only had a single bedroomed apartment and she knew that Sherlock would be way too vain to sleep on the loung. As tempted as she was, she just couldn't sleep next to Sherlock.

She pulled out one of the old blankets from her cupboard and grabbed the other pillow that was on her bed and dragged them out to her lounge room where she tried to set herself up so that she was as comfortable as possible on her tiny couch- which wasn't very comfortable. She had to curl up her legs so that she was almost in a ball so as to not have her legs hanging off the lounge.

Despite the uncomfortable position, the overwhelming tiredness had Molly asleep in minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Shout out to faeryenchanter who is helping me immensely by being my Beta! I hope this chapter is alright and things aren't happening too quickly... I own nothing! Check my wallet! Please enjoy and don't forget to R&R x**

* * *

The first thing Molly felt when she woke up was an intense pain in her neck. For a moment she was confused until she remembered all that had happened in the past few days. Her eyes flew open as she panicked slightly that _Sherlock was in her apartment_. She pushed herself into an upright position and sat for a moment on the couch, analyzing what parts of her body hurt the most. She decided that her neck definitely hurt the most but her back also ached from curling up all night.  
"So, you're finally awake," she heard Sherlock call from the kitchen.  
Knowing he would probably come into the lounge room in a matter of seconds Molly made a vain attempt to pull out some of the knots in her hair, unsuccessfully.  
"Please, Molly, don't bother with your petty attempts to make yourself more attractive. Besides, I've seen you in much worse form," Sherlock said as he entered the room, holding a mug of coffee.  
Molly blushed slightly.

"Um, Sherlock, what time is it?"  
"About 1:30. That reminds me, later on, go down to the store and get me as many different newspapers as you can. I want to see what they're saying about me. I doubt they've mentioned Moriarty's death."  
Molly noticed that this wasn't a request, but an order.  
"Mmmkay…" Molly mumbled, yawning. Her arm went up to her neck, massaging where she'd slept awkwardly.

"Don't worry. You'll be able to sleep in your bed at least for a few nights. I don't sleep when I'm working."

"But, you don't have a case… You're dead, remember?"

"Just because I'm 'dead' doesn't mean I don't have a case."

"But… How…?"

"How am I going to continue working when I'm supposed to be dead? It's because I'll be hiding in plain sight. No one will be looking for me. And obviously I'll be in disguise. My clothes are distinct; they're what I'm known for. Without them most people won't know who I am, unless they know me personally, which, considering the size of London and the very small fraction of people I know within the city it is unlikely I will see any of them, not to mention the fact that I will be extra careful to avoid any place where it would be likely to be seen anyone I know."

Not really knowing how to respond Molly just nodded. She wanted to argue that it wasn't safe but she knew he would just argue with her and there was no way she would come out on top in an argument with Sherlock Holmes. John had always said that he would do anything to always have the last word.

* * *

After a twelve-hour sleep Molly felt extremely groggy and decided to have another shower before heading out to fetch the newspapers that Sherlock wanted.  
The closest newsagent was only a couple of blocks down from where she lived so she decided to walk rather than pay the expense of a cab.

She decided not to bother Sherlock to say where she was going; he was sitting on the couch with his chin propped up on his fingers, which were in a prayer position and his eyes shut, obviously concentrating. He probably wouldn't even notice she had left.

As she walked her mobile phone beeped, indicating a new text message. She checked it, thinking it may be condolences from some of her co-workers or something (the way she felt about Sherlock wasn't exactly a secret), but as her eyes scanned the message, she stopped dead in her tracks. She let out a little yelp and almost dropped her phone as her eyes widened.  
Forgetting all about why she had gone out in the first place she almost ran back to her apartment, slamming the door behind her.  
"Did you get the papers, then?"  
"What? I- Oh! Sorry! I completely forgot," Molly stammered, shaking her head.  
Sherlock gave her an odd look before looking down at his laptop.  
"I'll go out now and get them… But, how did you get your laptop? I thought it was at Baker Street?"

"Mycroft had some men collect my things from my old apartment and drop them off here. Obviously not all of them- they wouldn't fit in here. Just essentials; clothes, a new phone, my laptop."

"But… John…"

"Apparently he was glad to be rid of it. I suspected so. Too many memories and such."

Molly just nodded. She was still distracted. Frightened.

* * *

Molly did end up getting the newspapers for Sherlock but when she did he only flicked through each of the briefly before tossing them aside and going back to typing away at his laptop.  
Molly hadn't really expected anything less of Sherlock, though. She went into her bedroom to lye down for a while and wait. She knew another text message would come soon. It was only a matter of time.

Sure enough, she had only been lying there, contemplating what to do when her phone beeped. She hadn't even opened the message before it beeped again. The first was a picture. At the sight of it she screamed. _No, no, it couldn't be… _With shaky fingers she opened the second message:

**I warned you.**

**-JM**

She could practically hear him singing it out with his Irish accent. "No, no, no, no… Oh, God, no…" Molly muttered between shaky breaths as she started crying.  
"What the-" Sherlock had heard Molly scream and came into see what was wrong only to find her sitting on her bed, shaking her head, and crying.  
He went over to her, deducing the obvious fact that whatever had started this was on her mobile phone, and extracted it from her fingers.  
He quickly found the picture that had caused her distress. It was of a woman, probably three or four year older than Molly, lying, with her eyes wide open, on a Persian rug, a bullet wound right in the centre of her forehead, dead.

The woman had brown eyes and brown-red hair. Despite distinct differences it was quite obvious who this woman was.  
"Molly. This is your sister, isn't it?"  
Molly gave a small jerk of her head, muttering, "Oh God, this is all my fault… Al my fault… This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for me…"

"What do you mean?"

Molly pulled the phone back from Sherlock and clicked onto the first message she had received earlier in the day:

**Meet me at the park where we had our first date.  
I can assure you that you'll regret it if you don't.  
-JM**

For one of the very few times in his life Sherlock was lost for words.  
"But, how- what- it can't be…"  
Molly took a deep breath as she whispered, "Sherlock, maybe you're not the only one who faked their death on the roof the other day."


End file.
